Old Wounds
by Silvera Sphinx
Summary: After the Vogler incident, the relationship between Chase and House became strained. It's now a month after Tritter's vendetta against House was halted, but any hope Chase had of things returning to normal between them seems to be gone. Very AU Yaoi
1. Introduction

_Disclaimer: I don't own House, M.D. or any characters._

**Old Wounds**

**Introduction**

It was two o'clock in the morning when Robert Chase finally trudged up the stairs of his apartment building and into his second-floor apartment. Once inside, he continued through the apartment into the bedroom, dropping his lab coat and bag on the way into his bedroom. Once there, not bothering to change, he collapsed, facedown, onto his bed, sighing in relief. Within seconds, he was deep in sleep, not expecting to have to wake up until sometime late the next day.

The last time he'd slept was over forty-two hours ago, not counting the one hour he'd managed to snatch while pulling his last ICU shift. This wouldn't have been a problem since he **had **gone through medical school, and then residency, after all and wasn't new to long nights, but it was swiftly becoming the norm for him to work sixteen, and sometimes even twenty, hour days. Most of the time when he came off, it was easier, and saved time, to just sleep in one of the ICU on-call rooms; this was actually the first time he'd been in his own apartment in nearly four days.

It was only two hours after he had gotten home when he was awakened by a piercing noise. Still with his eyes closed, he reached across to his nightstand to slap in the general direction of his alarm clock. After slapping at it for a couple minutes and not having the headache inducing sound stop, he finally opened his eyes and promptly realized that it wasn't his alarm at all, it being only six in the morning and he not having set it in the first place; his cell phone was the one actually making the noise. Debating whether or not to even bother fighting his way out of bed, he was off the next day, so no one from work should be calling; he finally decided to check who it was before dismissing the call outright.

One look at the phone's display had him groaning in dismay; flashing with each and every shrill ring was the word: House. Knowing in his gut that it would only mean being miserable if he answered, but also knowing that if he didn't, his boss was liable to come to his apartment and physically force him to speak to him, he flipped it open and answered.

"What do you want, House," he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Good morning, Chase," came House's voice, a voice entirely too cheerful for four am and made his already throbbing head ache even more.

"You called me at four am to tell me that?"

"Nope, I called you at four am to tell you to get your ass to the hospital; there's a patient coming in from Princeton General who needs to be admitted, and you're going to be his welcoming party," he crowed gleefully.

Chase frowned, "That's the attending's job, not mine."

"Ovit's on tonight, and he's a moron who doesn't know the difference between his posterior and his anterior; I want you to do it, so get down there, now!"

Ignoring the fact that Ovit had clearly graduated medical school and was more than qualified to do a patient intake, he only answered on the second part, "If you don't want Ovit to do it, then get Cameron or Foreman to; I'm off today."

"Cameron gets snippy if I wake her up before five, and you don't want me to call and interrupt Foreman when he's spending a night with his girl, do you? That would be just plain mean. Besides, I'm the boss, and you're the minion, ergo, you do what I say when I say."

Before Chase could even reply, he heard the click that meant House had hung up on him. Growling in frustration and pent-up anger, it took a monumental effort for him to resist the urge to throw his phone against the bedroom wall. Getting to his feet, he took a second to calm himself before grabbing up his coat and heading out the door. Looking into his rearview mirror at his tousled hair and the bags beneath his cloudy, blue-green eyes, he ruefully thought that he resembled what a zombie should look like. Putting his key in the ignition, he began the familiar route to PPTH.

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	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: On the Job Injury  
**

When he got to the hospital, he took the time to straighten his hair as best he could and douse his face with cold water before pulling his lab coat over sleep-rumpled clothes, and along with it, he assumed his friendly, doctor smile, the one that said he didn't mind at all being up at four am and even enjoyed it. Stopping at the nurses' station to retrieve the patient's chart, he stepped into the room.

"Hello, Mr. Gordon, I'm Dr. Chase and, I'm going to be asking you a few questions; it's important you answer truthfully, alright?"

The sizably muscled man on the bed grunted something he didn't quite catch, but he decided to take it as a 'yes'.

"Ok, Mr. Gordon, it says here you've been experiencing headaches, nausea, fatigue, and body aches, and you were brought into the ER tonight because you couldn't stand. Is that correct?"

At the man's nod, he continued, "Has anything like that ever happened to you?"

Instead of answering, the man pulled himself up into a sitting position and leaned forward toward the young doctor. He met Chase's eyes; Chase noticed they were slightly unfocused and made a mental note to put it in the chart.

"Look, it was no big deal; my girlfriend freaked out and called 911. It's probably just the flu or something; I'll just take some Oscillo or something. I really just wanna get outta here, so if you could get whatever paperwork I need to sign for that to happen, your job will be done."

Chase could tell there was something off about the man just from looking into his eyes; his pupils were dilated too much, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on anything.

"Well, Mr. Gordon, I really think your girlfriend was right to call 911 because from what you've told me and what was sent over from Princeton General, it's clear to me that this is not the flu but may be something much more serious."

Chase sighed inwardly in relief when his patient lay back in the bed without anymore protest. Taking another look through what PG had sent them, he noted that there was no complaint of fever, and his temperature upon arrival at PPTH was 98.9. He also noticed that he had been transferred over so quickly that they hadn't even done a blood panel yet.

"First things first, I'm going to do some general diagnostic tests: taking your temperature, blood pressure, that sort of thing. Then, I'd like to take some blood to check for…

"I don't want any blood test," interrupted his distinctly aggravated patient.

Inwardly cursing his boss for forcing him into work, therefore causing him to have this patient at all, he nonetheless maintained a smile as he spoke to the man.

As he spoke, he walked to stand next to the bed, a thermometer in hand, "its standard procedure for patients experiencing…"

"No…," bellowed the supine man.

Chase suddenly found a beefy hand at his throat, choking off most of his air supply; one look at the man was enough to tell him something was seriously wrong, the man's pupils were unevenly dilated, he was hyperventilating, and the arm holding him captive was trembling violently.

"I need some help in here," he shouted as best he could.

Dropping the thermometer, he grabbed at the brawny arm with both hands, desperately trying to force it to release him. The only response was a tightening of the hand around his throat, completely cutting his airway off, causing him to see spots. Throwing his body to the side and back, he attempted to dislodge the hand. All of this happened in the space of seconds, but to Chase, it felt like ages. Another thick hand closed tightly around his throat, ripping the I.V. out of his arm, causing blood to flow freely from his arm. The larger man then launched himself out of the bed and on top of the slighter man. Chase heard the doors to the room slide open and voices shouting just before he felt a sharp pain as the back of his head collided with the floor, and everything went dark.

* * *

He felt as if he were swimming as he fought his way into consciousness, ignoring the fact that his head felt like a herd of elephants was trampling through his skull. As he became more aware, he heard voices arguing nearby; some seemed familiar to him, but try as he might, he couldn't place them. Forcing his eyes open, he began searching his mind, attempting to recall what had happened to him but came up empty.

"What happened," he asked quietly, trying not to aggravate his head anymore.

Both doctors turned to look at him, one concerned and the other obviously irritated.

"Why don't you tell us? We'd love to know how you managed to screw up something as simple as a patient intake."

Chase winced, the volume he had spoken at caused his already pounding head to feel as if it were going to explode.

"Who...who are you? Where's my father?"

The female doctor's look became even more concerned at his questions.

"Can you tell us your name?"

"What kind of a question is that? My name's Robert Chase. Now, can I please see my father?"

"Your dad's in Oz, pretending you don't exist, so everything's normal with him..."

"House, if you can't be civil, you can leave" admonished the female.

As they spoke, Chase furrowed his brow in thought. A wave of dizziness and pain had him clamping his eyes shut and groaning unintentionally. Instantly, all eyes were back on him.

"Chase, are you alright?"

"It's just a little pain; take it like a man!"

"Fuck off, House," anger fueled by pain had the words out of his mouth before he had even realized it.

"Dr. Chase, do you know who we are and where you are now," Lisa Cuddy asked.

"Of course, you're Dr. Cuddy, and House," he said with a dry smile, and then, the smile disappearing, "But I don't understand. How did I get back to the hospital?"

"You don't remember anything at all," the Dean asked, the concerned look returning.

Chase thought again, desperately searching for some memory, but all he remembered was crashing at his apartment, and then, it was blank; he had no idea how he'd gotten to the hospital, and he said as much.

Cuddy looked worried as she spoke, "You came in around four to do an intake for a patient from PG; he became agitated and attacked you. Are you saying that you don't remember any of this?"

A crease appeared on her forehead as the blonde doctor still could not remember.

"What's the damage?"

"They were able to sedate him before he did any; the only thing is that you hit your head pretty hard, which would account for the headache your probably experiencing."

"Oh, when can I go home then?"

The Dean looked startled at the question.

"Chase, you were unconscious for nearly fifteen minutes, your pupils are uneven, and you are clearly disoriented. For a few minutes there you didn't recognize either of us. You are staying in the hospital for observation tonight, at the very least, maybe longer."

"What do you mean I didn't recognize you?"

"You seriously don't remember calling out for daddy?! If I had known your memory was this bad, I'd have never hired you, dangerous for the patients you know, when their doctor can't remember his own name."

"You have a concussion, and it would be completely irresponsible for me to release you," the hospital administrator stated calmly, at the same time, glaring at House.

"Thanks for the concern, but there's no way I'm spending the rest of the night here; I'm fine, it's just a minor concussion. I'll just go home and sleep it off; I'll sign the AMA papers, so you and the hospital will be off the hook."

She sighed, recognizing the stubborn look in his eyes, "While I think you should stay, you're an adult and a doctor yourself, but I don't want you signing out AMA. I'll release you, but there is, however, one condition; I won't let you leave unless you have someone who can stay with you until your symptoms are completely gone, and I mean twenty-four hours a day. If you sign out AMA, you'll be doing extra clinic hours for the next month, got it?"

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	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Limited Options**

Chase's mouth dropped open in objection, "But…but that's blackmail."

"Whatever it is, it's what I'll do. Whatever you decide, you're on medical leave until you've been given a clean bill of health. Let me know if someone comes for you, and I'll release you," was Cuddy's firm reply.

As soon as she had left the room, the door opened and Wilson stepped inside. Chase could hear him talking to House and knew that, in a moment, the oncologist would know exactly what was going on. Ignoring the two older doctors, he reached into his pocked and pulled out his cell phone.

Opening the phonebook, he scrolled through the short list of names twice, searching for someone he could not only call at this time of night to come get him but could also ask to stay with him for at least a few days. After scratching the list of his coworkers out, he wasn't nearly close enough to any of them, he was left with a very short list of his favorite takeout places and a few potential dates. Mentally going through the list of dates, he ticked off name after name until he had ticked them all off. Actually, there were a few he should really delete, but now was not the time.

Growing desperate, he paused, on his third time through the list, on one name, the only name in the entire list that had nothing to do with work, dating, or food. He stared at the highlighted name; it would be so easy, just press the "call" button and…but no, he couldn't call **her**, not now, not with a favor of this magnitude.

"Can't find anyone to babysit a sick wombat," House asked with mock-pity, spinning himself on the rolling stool.

"I'm…I'm just thinking about people's schedules."

The concussion, or the pain, must be messing with his critical thinking skills because he was sure he could've come up with something better otherwise.

House snorted, "Yeah, because that's what everyone thinks about when…"

Some of his despair must have shown on his face because Wilson interrupted, "So, have you decided who you're going to call yet?"

"I'm trying to," Chase growled through clenched teeth, the pain in his head was getting worse, and all he wanted to do was go home, have a hot shower, and fall asleep in his own bed.

"Why don't you call Cameron or Foreman," Wilson suggested helpfully.

Chase couldn't hide the wince that this suggestion brought on. The thought of the amount of concern and pity Cameron would smother him with made his head pound harder, and he doubted Foreman would appreciate having to stay with him. The neurologist could barely stand being near Chase when they were at work and both were healthy, let alone when he was sick, and the feeling was mutual.

"I **really **don't think so."

He scrolled through the list again, this time pausing at each name, trying to see if there was any possible way he could make them work. Once again, he was stuck staring at the same highlighted name, wanting to push the "call" button but knowing he shouldn't, that he couldn't.

"Oooh, I know! What about your dominatrix friend; she could tie you up to keep you from wandering off!"

He turned his head just enough to glare at his boss who, from the look on his face, had just found the cure to cancer.

"Don't get all pissy with me just because you don't have any friends. It's so sad when someone with such great hair is so disliked."

Wilson glared at the diagnostician.

"I **told** you, I have…"

"Prove it," was the challenging reply.

"Fine," and without thinking about it, he pressed the green, "call" button.

As soon as he heard the ringing, he had the urge to immediately hang up, but the smug, self-satisfied look on House's face and the fact that caller ID would have her calling him back eventually anyway kept him from it. As the ringing continued and there was obviously no one picking up, the smug look grew and so did the worried one on Wilson's face. Chase wasn't sure which one annoyed him most at the moment.

Then suddenly, "Hi, Robyn, I can't really talk right now. Can I call…?"

"Yeah, I know you're really busy right now, but I have a really big favor I need to ask. I know that the timing is really, really bad, and I shouldn't…"

"Hey, Robyn, why don't you tell me the favor first? Then you can go back to convincing me not to agree."

"Oh, right, I had a bit of an accident at work, and…"

"Are you alright," shouted the feminine voice, all joking gone from her voice.

The concern lacing her voice soothed his battered mind, but the volume at which she spoke had him gritting his teeth again.

"Yeah, I just have a minor concussion, but my boss won't let me leave unless I have someone come get me and stay with me until my symptoms are gone, which is why I'm calling you at four-thirty in the morning."

"Are you kidding, of course I'll come get you; you can stay at my place. I don't live that far from PPTH. Just give me some time, and I'll get someone to cover for me; I'll be there right after."

"Come through the ER; ask for Dr. Cuddy," he said before hanging up and letting his arm drop beside him, the short exchange draining him.

Looking over, he met House's piercing eyes and couldn't help looking slightly triumphant when he said, "She's coming."

* * *

An hour later, nothing had changed except Chase's headache had steadily grown worse and the urge to throw up had transformed into copiously throwing up; Wilson had gotten him Phenergan, but so far, it had yet to help. Both House and Wilson were still in the dimly lit, hospital room with him, though neither had said much since his phone call, not that Chase really had the energy to monitor their conversation; expelling the contents of his stomach, and then some, occupied most of his attention.

He had just gotten a pause in between fits of throwing up and, shutting his eyes, laid back to rest when a loud bang reverberated through the room and his entire hospital bed vibrated. Blue-green eyes shot open as the noise seemed to pierce his brain, sending a bolt of agony through him.

House grinned, "Just making sure you hadn't slipped into unconsciousness," he said cheerfully.

Chase only groaned.

Wilson sighed, "Would you like some more Ibuprofen," he asked, glaring at House.

"No, no more painkillers," was the Australian's vehement reply.

"Why don't you just accept it? Whoever you called isn't coming; you're unloved and alone!"

Before anyone could say anything else, there was a knock at the door just before it opened, allowing Cuddy to step inside. She was followed in by someone who had Chase smiling a real smile for the first time in days.

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